


Only Lovers Die

by dancey94



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Grief/Mourning, Illnesses, M/M, POV First Person, Past Character Death, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-07 15:27:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8806204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancey94/pseuds/dancey94
Summary: After experiencing a tragic loss, Hannibal decides to move away for a while. Suspended between taking his own life and starting it anew, he meets a young man who may be the key to his dilemma.Inspired by  Death in Venice,  Duma Key and  Le Fantôme.





	1. Day 1

Starting over is a fantasy most of us can only dream of, and even if we had the chance, how many would be brave enough to go through with it? Just a few. The ones for whom it’s life or death. But getting away with it – that’s another story.

The sea was calm. The gentlest touch of wind coaxed the water to move a bit quicker but still, the waves were barely noticeable. They crushed against the pier with little force and disappeared, making space for the new ones.

The sun was high on the horizon and I could not imagine a day that it wouldn’t be. I’d heard so much about the place I would be staying at.

The small boat I was on allowed me some privacy and comfort of withdrawing into my own mind.

As we approached the pier, I prepared my bike and put my helmet on, replacing an old hat. The bike was supposed to be my means of transport. It had been a good companion for over fifteen years and it had never let me down, as many people had. Still, I enjoyed the parts of life when I didn’t have to use modern technology.

Old-school and vintage things fascinated me the most. That’s why the town had drawn my attention. If a man is supposed to start his life anew, it should be in a place where everything is unknown, ready to discover, but not necessarily new.

I drove along the narrow and low bridge. There was no way any boat would be able to go under it.

It led me to a building with a clock consisting of two arrows that crossed halfway, the very same building I saw in one of the photographs – the landmark of the town. I’d read some theories about it and ended up believing none was true.

The hotel I was going to stay in was exactly as advertised. The lobby was fairly small, furnished with old armchairs and dusty curtains in the windows. The woman in the reception, although that word barely suits the real image, was old with grey hair and she spoke broken English, but overall she was extremely accommodating. Especially after being given quite a big tip.

I received a key - again, very old-school, not an electronic card that you had to press or slide, just a simple key - and went upstairs. There were only a few rooms in the whole building but I was told I was given the best one. Certainly, that was what every guest was told.

I had only one suitcase with me, another on the way in case I was going to stay longer than expected, which was three days. Three days for a complete and thorough recovery, a metamorphosis as it were. I had given myself three days. Then, when I thought of it, it was an impossibly stupid ultimatum. Naturally, I would need more time. But at that point, I was convinced that I wouldn’t last even those three days and leave earlier, maybe move to another hotel, until in one of them I would either find peace or take my own life.

Little did I know of the workings of the universe. There was a design for me there.

It seemed as if there were no other people staying in the hotel. I heard no noises and assumed I had no neighbours.

The unpacking took me exactly thirty seconds as I realised I didn’t want to unpack at all. I opened the suitcase, had a glimpse of an ancient revolver, and closed the suitcase.

Not today, I thought and looked through the window. The weather was excellent. There were a few boats on the sea and people sunbathing on the patch of sand by the pier. I decided to visit the town, begin my exploration.

***

The road led me to a street with a few cafes and some grocery shops. Exactly fifty meters away there was a parallel street where I found a studio in the basement, which turned out to be an artist shop. They had all kinds of paints and crayons, canvases, huge blocks of paper and more.

Art had always been one of my many interests. I looked around the place carefully, counting the number of different brushes I could spot. After a few minutes, a young man appeared almost out of nowhere. I knew there had to be a room in the back but I got so lost in thought, I didn’t register the moment the man showed up behind a counter.

Despite the sunny weather that was everyday reality for the inhabitants there, the man was pale. The shade of his skin stood in contrast to his hair which resembled the colour of dark chocolate. I could taste it on my tongue, with a pinch of orange – a perfect combination.

His bluish eyes were tired, yet expressed gratitude for a long-awaited customer. There was a mystery behind those eyes, something rooted deeply in the man’s soul, something unknown and terrifying, I could feel it.

“How can I help you?” The man asked, a memorised but rarely practised question.

My eyes were on him and I could barely speak. My focus shifted irreversibly from the paints and brushes to the shape of the man standing in front of me – an inch or two shorter than me, with two decades between us, I assumed.

It was obvious the man was younger than me. He was young in general, more of a boy than a man, though the tiredness and boredom in his eyes could mislead anyone.

“Is there anything in particular you’re looking for?” Another question was raised, unmistakably by the young man as there was no one else in the shop, but I had the impression that the voice was only in my head.

“I like the collection of brushes you have here.”

The man smiled at me faintly and his eyes wandered to a shelf on the wall to the right. It felt as if he was avoiding my eyes and the situation was unpleasant for him but he had to deal with it nonetheless.

“I’ll buy one if you tell me your name.”

My offer was bold and risky and I shouldn’t have put it forward but I simply could not resist. One brush for every new piece of information. I could afford it.

The frown on the man’s face was telling. It appeared the process of making the decision drained all of his energy and when he blinked he had to use all his willpower.

“Do you need a brush?” He asked, the question sounded like the least reasonable thing to say. He didn’t care if he sold anything, he didn’t care for my flirtation. The man wanted it all to be over. I could identify with that strongly.

I looked at the long line of different brushes and carefully picked one. It was a conscious decision. I put the item on the counter between me and the man, and spoke.

“I’ll take this one.”

The man looked at me, blinked again, and pressed a few buttons in the cash register. I took out my wallet and gave him more money than the brush cost.

“Keep the change.” I said, took the brush and left the shop disappointed, to say the least, although I didn’t know what I was expecting.

I wandered around the town for a few more hours and then went back to my hotel room. I forgot about the brush which was still somewhere in one of my pockets. I decided to take a nap.

***

In the late evening, I heard a noise. It came from somewhere in the centre of the town, where tourists like me spent their nights, relaxing, drinking and chatting. I felt rested after the nap and the deeper sleep would come later so I thought exploring the nightly opportunities would do no harm.

The streets were lit by lamps not much taller than me and I considered myself a tall man. The atmosphere was cosy – couples holding hands and walking towards the beach to have a quiet moment of romance, families laughing at an old anecdote, children playing and running around. Among all of those happy people was my humble person – alone, lonely and desperate. It came to a point when I didn’t have a goal in life and the life I had known had come to ruin. All of the dreams I’d had, all of the plans I’d made… All for nothing.

I took a seat by one of the cafes and ordered a glass of whiskey. The world spun around me even before I had a first sip of the drink, it was just a feeling I got. Everyone seemed to laugh and enjoy life while there I was - suffering the torture of seeing people have what I had lost. I was surrendered by an unbearable amount of happiness. That was not a good place to pursue my recovery.

I finished the drink and went on. Wandering around the town for a bit, I was thinking that maybe I was too harsh on myself and that I shouldn’t continue with that behaviour. Naturally, seeing other people rub their joy in my face was getting on my nerves but I had yet to find my own way to fulfilment. I had to focus on myself, however selfish that sounded at the time.


	2. Day 2

In the morning, I had a shower and went for a walk. While I was swallowing another mouthful of pastry that I had ordered for breakfast, I felt the sturdy end of the brush in one of my pockets, rubbing restlessly against my chest near the part when the heart was. _Do you need a brush?_

I didn’t. I indulged in a game with rules too intricate for my old and tired mind to follow.

The coffee being finished and the bill being paid, there was nothing that kept me in the café. I wondered if there was anything that kept me in the town at that point.

Perhaps, the brush that had poked me a few times and reminded me of a man with extremely tired eyes. One would think the man had gone through a biggest drama than I had. That mystery was what led me to the shop in the basement. That and the brush in my pocket.

Never an artist myself, I appreciated and admired the works of other people. For a brief moment I imagined the boy from the shop sitting on a stool before a canvas, a brush in hand, and swoosh after swoosh, reconstructing the way the waves crushed against the pier. Then, I remembered, the man might have lived there all his life and although that wasn’t very long, still, it was his whole life.

For a tourist like me the view was exciting. For someone who saw it every day, it was at the very least boring, if not simply depressing.

On my way to the shop I remembered that I would have to make a decision if I wanted to stay in town longer and have another suitcase delivered or if I was going to move. Flipping a coin was the first thing that came to my mind but I wanted that decision to be fully conscious as I would have to live with its consequences.

Upon entering the shop I noticed the man sitting in a chair and napping. His forehead was sweaty and lips parted but the thing that caught my eyes immediately was the unusual paleness of his face. I assumed that he spent most of the time in the shop and never got any tan, despite the weather.

There was a tragedy written on his face, a reason why he would rather stay indoors and why he preferred the solitude.

I realised that we had tragedy in common and that I actually felt sorry for the man, even though I didn’t know his name and even though I had promised myself to be selfish.

I looked around and decided that, since I purchased the brush, I may need also paints and a piece of material to create my illustrations on. There was little I knew about painting and I was reluctant to disturb the man’s sleep so I took a book from one of the shelves and started reading. It was an introduction for the amateurs into the art of brush and paint.

After ten pages, I heard a soft gasp and, then, a curse. My eyes shifted from the book to the man in the chair.

“Forgive me.” I started explaining. “I stepped inside and saw you were asleep.”

“So you decided to watch over the place?” His voice was calm even though I knew he was irritated.

“I wanted to buy some paints but I need advice. Since you weren’t available…”

“What kind of advice?” The man cut me short.

“For starters, what kind of paints I should buy?”

The sound he made wasn’t exactly a laugh or a chuckle but I knew he found my clumsiness and complete lack of knowledge funny. What did a man like myself do in an artist shop? And the answer was as inconceivable to the man as it was to me.

The young man looked at me, seemed to be measuring something, and glanced at one of the shelves. He approached it and took a set of watercolours which he then put on the counter.

“Something else?” The man asked, obviously bored and not really in the mood for conversation.

“A canvas, I think, for me to paint on.”

He rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath. I was genuinely amused by his attitude of utter unwillingness to help a customer. Yet, I could understand and almost feel that I was bothering him to the limit.

It wasn’t my place to help him and his life was none of my business but at that moment I decided that I would stay in town for another few days. The least I wanted to do was to find out something more about the man. Then, a realisation hit me – I still didn’t know his name.

“Excuse me…” I began as I watched the man reach for a drawing pad. His behaviour started to genuinely irritate me. I was, of course, a newbie and my lack of knowledge showed in every sentence but to treat a fairly polite customer like that?

I thought I was being stupid and naïve, thinking that he might be interested or that he might actually open up, or at the very least laugh at my clumsiness. I asked myself why would a young man like him be bothered by an older guy, a tourist, to be painfully specific, who would disappear some day and never come back. He probably had a beautiful girl waiting for him at home, and was for sure annoyed that he had to spend the day at work, bored to death, with one pestering customer.

I took out my wallet and placed two banknotes on the counter. Without a word, I took the items I bought and left the shop. A faint sigh reached my ears as I closed the door.

***

Every day we make choices, choices that shape our lives, and sometimes the lives of others.

I was yet to find out in the most painful way how affecting others could also affect me.

When I returned to my hotel room, I knew that I had changed my decision made in the artist shop. I was going to leave the town in two days. There was nothing that would keep me there, no one that could make this experience worthy of prolonging my stay.

I peered into the bag with the set of watercolours and the drawing pad. That was a mistake. That was an unnecessary purchase done in hope of… I couldn’t admit even before myself that I was hoping the man would like me. All I wanted was a chance encounter and a friendship, a pair of ears to listen.

None of my old friends could reassure me, however hard they tried. They kept repeating the same worn out phrases and I didn’t blame them for being unable to take away the pain. It was an impossible task. And I knew I had to take a break in order to recover. I wanted to cut the timeline in two and start my life anew.

I assumed, since I had bought the tools, I could just as well go ahead and paint something.

I took the bag and went to the pier. I sat on the stone ground and looked at the horizon. It was peaceful but it made me think and I didn’t want to think. I didn’t want to return to the painful memories. But that was all I had.

I took out the drawing pad and the watercolours, and thought that I should have just bought a pencil.

I had rarely drawn anything. Most of the things I made were just some shapes and figures. I had never felt the need to develop that particular skill. And so, I was afraid and embarrassed to even reach for the brush. So I didn’t do it.

I watched the sun moving on the sky towards the thin line of the horizon. At seven, I decided I would return to the hotel room and go to sleep. I imagined that by doing so I would cause the morning to come faster. I wanted to leave that place already.

 ***

As I was walking up the stairs, I heard a noise and wondered if anyone was cleaning the floor at that hour or if I had a neighbour. A huge surprise was waiting for me, for when I reached my floor and moved towards my room, the door to the room next to mine opened. A man appeared and all I could do was stand in shock. It wasn’t any man, it was _the_ man. The man from the artist shop, the one that treated me with little respect and care, the one for whom I almost wanted to stay in that forgotten town.

He closed the door with a key and moved in the direction of the stairs, in my direction. As he spotted and immediately recognised me, his lips parted gently. He didn’t say anything, just walked past me and went downstairs. I wanted to stop him and ask whether he was living in the building, but, eventually, I didn’t even look at him as he passed me. I entered my room and lay on the bed.

Sleep didn’t come easily. It didn’t come at all, for the first half an hour. Then, I decided I could shape some figures in the drawing pad I bought with a pen I had. Watercolours were not for me, I decided.

I remained comfortably situated on the bed and held the pen an inch away from the pad. I didn’t know how to start. I didn’t know where to start.

I pressed the pen to the piece of paper and moved it to the right. There, it was a straight line. And I had no conception of what I would do next. The pen seemed to push my hand and drive over the white paper without me even knowing.

A square was what I drew and I had to laugh. It was the simplest shape I could imagine. However, that was a start.

Then, I added another one inside the first one, and then another. It created a mirage, a corridor with no end or a mirror mirrored in a bigger mirror. Then, next to the never-ending corridor, I drew a spiral. That got me thinking. I was exploring the shapes of infinity.

I looked at the clock and then out of the window. It was twilight and there I was, drawing spirals instead of enjoying a nice evening in a small town, as real tourists do. At that moment I realised – I wasn’t a real tourist, and If it wasn’t for the fact that I was going to leave in two days, I would have stayed in my room and continued my sketches.

However, since time wasn’t an infinite concept for me, I decided to go out.

 ***

It was the most slowly sipped glass of wine in my entire life.

I sat in a chair by a small round table – one of many – and observed other people as they laughed, danced, kissed and quarrelled. A particularly devoted couple caught my eye and I couldn’t help but felt a pang of envy. Simultaneously, I wished them all the best and wished that there was still hope for me. If not for happiness, then at least for recovery.

Time passed, second by second, each one longer and more painful. I remembered a method I had read about a couple of years before, that allowed a person to detach from the present moment. I only had to close my eyes and imagine I was in a pleasant place, preferably one that I knew very well and liked. I was supposed to find peace.

Instead, as I closed my eyes, I heard a tired, annoyed voice.

“Would you like another glass?”

An image of the man appeared in my head immediately and I didn’t have to open my eyes to know to whom that voice belonged. I smiled faintly as I opened my eyes. Then, I frowned, seeing the man from the artist shop dressed as a waiter and waiting by my table for an answer to his question.

“If I may suggest, you shouldn’t have another one. I’d hate to have to come here and wake you up.”

I remembered the scene from the shop that day, when I had said I didn’t want to wake him.

“I’m not sleepy. I was just trying to… relax.” I didn’t know why I felt the need to explain myself before that man. “I’d like another glass, thank you.”

I watched him take my glass and disappear. He came a minute later.

My body took over my mind, manners and common sense, and I grabbed his sleeve as he attempted to flee again, having left a glass of wine on my table.

“Forgive me.” That was the apology for initiating physical contact. When I had his attention, I instantly withdrew my hand. “I saw you today in the hotel I’m staying in.”

The man rolled his eyes and waited. I must have genuinely annoyed him by stating the obvious.

“Do you live there?” I asked.

“That’s none of your concern. Now, I need to go. I’m at work.”

I blew it. I wanted to punch myself. Why on earth would he talk to me about his living conditions?

The next fifteen minutes I spent on watching him manoeuvre between the tables and chairs as he was carrying trays and glasses. I wanted to call him, make him approach me so that I could apologise but I still had no clue about his name. So I waited.

I finished another glass and waited.

His expression was terrifying – pale cheeks, bloodshot eyes with huge bags underneath and pain, lots of it.

It was well after midnight when he greeted a young woman and disappeared into the small café. I didn’t see him afterwards. I assumed he must have left using back door.

I stayed a bit longer. Then, I left some money on the table and went back to my hotel room.


	3. Day 3

Falling asleep wasn’t a problem, especially with the help of alcohol. The problem was that I woke before six, aware that I wouldn’t be able to get any more rest. My eyes were wide open and refused to close again.

I took a shower, brushed my teeth, got dressed.

As I was leaving my room, the door next to mine opened.

“Hello.” I said to the man, who seemed as if he had just returned after a long night at work, when, in fact, he was leaving.

He answered me with a grunt. I knew we were just strangers and he was not in the mood for pleasantries, on each occasion I met him, but a simple ‘hi’ would have been appreciated.

“I know I’ve been bothering you, or at least that’s how you see it…”

“I don’t engage in polite conversations when I’m at work.” The man explained as he was locking his door.

“You’re not at work now, are you?”

“I am, in fact. I’m always at work.” He looked exhausted and discouraged.

“I see I caught you at a bad time.”

“There’s never a good time.” His voice was clear but distant and full of sorrow.

Time was a tragic concept and tragedy couldn’t be reduced with time. For once something bad happened, no amount of time was able to fix it. And humans had only limited span of time.

“I see. I apologise.”

“Don’t lock the door, please.” The man said, the words taking me aback completely.

“Excuse me?”

“I’ll change your sheets and clean your room, since I can see you’re leaving.” He explained, frowning at me, as if the answer was most obvious.

“Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.” The answer was fused with a muffled laughter, but the kind that I associated with madmen in asylums.

“So you work in the shop, serve in the café, clean rooms here… What else?”

“Here, I am only helping my mom. Now, please, you may go. Enjoy your stay.”

I didn’t know why I felt that I could trust him, but I didn’t lock the door, and left. There was not much he could steal, anyway.

 ***

I knew that what I was about to do was wrong, it was out of line and not at all appreciated. Yet, with every new piece of information came a beam of enlightenment and relief. Among the new and unknown I hoped to thrive. That part of my life was about discovery so I approached the old lady by the reception desk in an attempt to learn more about the man that appeared to influence my universe in a very odd way.

“I just spoke to your son.”

Her eyes beamed with pride and motherly love. I knew at that moment that he was all she had.

“Will’s a fine young man. Can be stubborn sometimes but he’s never done anything wrong.”

“He seems quite hard-working.” I smiled at her and she nodded.

“You know them, young people. They want to be independent, cut loose their parents as soon as they can. But Will helps me a lot. I don’t believe he could ever leave me.”

I left it at that, no more questions. To be frank, I was expecting a story of a motorbike that the man – Will – wanted very much and saved money any way he could to buy it. Somehow, after talking to the lady, I assumed that there was no bike. There was either nothing or a one-way ticket somewhere far away, where he hoped to lead a better life. Nevertheless, I had a feeling that she was unaware of many things and that her son would, in fact, leave her at some point.

I promised myself one more day but with the revelations coming in I prolonged my stay in my mind to two days more.

 ***

The streets were already filed with tourists taking pictures and creating perfect memories. I sat in one of the cafes and watched. Memories of my own trips flooded my mind and I realised that the better the stay, the more it hurt to leave. All the beautiful and amazing stories I could tell were the most painful because I knew they were in the past. Sometimes, those stories and trips felt like they hadn’t happened, like they were just dreams I had dreamt.

I planned to spend that evening on the beach. I wanted to look at the waves, relax completely and withdraw from the world.

On my way there, I walked along the street where the artist shop was. I couldn’t help myself. I had to step inside, knowing I would leave any day soon and he would never see me again. I was that desperate.

“You again? What do you need?” The man asked me the second my feet crossed the threshold.

He was sitting behind the counter, leaning in a chair and reading a book. When I entered, he put the book aside but didn’t stand up.

“Five minutes. I will buy whatever you want, no matter the price.”

He frowned at me, probably barely understanding what I had in mind. There was no fear, only indifference in his eyes. His lips formed a thin line, determined to stay shut, unrevealing.

“I just want you to… engage in a polite conversation. For five minutes.”

His eyes became narrow. A good-looking man like him might have been offered much more dangerous deals so he became sceptical of any offers.

“Why?”

“Call it a whim.” It wasn’t. At that point, it was desperation. I wanted to know that man, wanted to have a friend – the kind that was still a stranger to me and that was why I felt I could open up to him more easily.

“Are you obsessed or something?”

I mustered the most innocent smile.

“Does it matter? This is not an immoral proposition. And you can, of course, decline.”

This was not about me buying anything in exchange for him talking to me. This was about him being afraid and unwilling to open up to me. No wonder.

“I don’t have time for games.” The man said, in a tone that wasn’t firm enough to discourage me. I knew he would bend.

“You see,” I approached the counter and placed my open palms on the wooden surface, “I think you sit here all alone and have all the time in the world. We are speaking now. Why can’t you-”

“I don’t know why you chose to stalk me and why you won’t just enjoy your stay like all the others do. All I know is that it’s a waste of time to engage in conversations with passers-by who have no impact on the lives of the people here.”

“Is that the problem?” I asked, feeling like scales dropped from my eyes. “You’re sceptical about talking to me because our acquaintanceship will not last?”

“And I have no time or means or inclination-”

“Alright, you made yourself clear. I truly understand. But what if I wasn’t just a tourist? What if I stayed?” I knew, right when I was asking the question, that I would stay. A week more, a month, a year. Didn’t matter. I had all the time in the world and all the money to cover for my whim. If only that was the way to throw away my old life and start anew in a different environment.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t it?”

The man sighed. He was obviously annoyed with me and my hell-bent approach. I would not give up and no matter how much he hated that, he was also impressed, I could tell. That was my great fault, which, in the end, enabled me to get to know a most interesting man. I’d hate to imagine how it would all have gone down if I had stopped pestering him at some point.

“Look, it’s up to you how long you’re going to stay here.”

The manner in which he spoke was not convincing in the slightest. I got the impression that he had too much to lose and yet nothing to lose. Fear seemed to be his driving motivation.

I looked to the right, glanced at the shelf with different pencils. I chose one and paid more than three times of what it was worth. Will wouldn’t face me as he took the money. Then, I simply left. I didn’t want him to associate me with fear.

Later, as I was sitting by the pier, I realised that I must have sounded like a posh, ignorant and self-absorbed jerk, the kind of person whom I personally despised and was always seconds away from punching in the stomach.


	4. Day 4

In the morning, as I was leaving my room, I found a note on my doorstep saying that if I needed entertainment so badly, then maybe I should look for it elsewhere. Otherwise, I could come to the artist shop.

There was no name but I knew all too well who was the author of the note.

Will invited me to the shop, leaving no illusion that he’s not the type to give in easily and he was not interested in keeping company someone hungry for vacuous platitudes.

I decided to do my best and make up for all the times Will might have found me boring and imposing. I bought two pieces of pastry and two cups of coffee, and went straight to the artist shop.

There were plenty of contradictory feelings inside me but when I saw the door to the shop, I was certain that I wanted to see that man again. My decision was made and I stepped inside the building.

“Good morning.”

Will was sitting in the chair behind the counter, sketching something in a pad with a pencil. He looked up at me as I walked in, and immediately hid the pad in one of the drawers.

“Hi.”

A bit hesitantly, I put the bag with the pastry and the coffee on the counter, and waited. I followed his gaze as he poked the bag and then opened it. The frown on his face was telling – he was surprised and slightly embarrassed. I assumed he wasn’t expecting me to come with gifts and politely tread carefully around him, while all he had done was reject me repeatedly, over and over.

“I thought all you wanted was five minutes.” He said with narrowed eyes and a faint smirk that was actually quite seductive, whether he was conscious of it or not.

“You gave me permission to come here.”

“I gave you nothing. You’d come anyway.”

He was so right.

I smiled at him innocently and I saw him give in as he closed his eyes and sighed in resignation.

“I’ll bring you a chair. Don’t steal anything.” He announced and disappeared at the back of the shop.

I took a look around, already familiar with all the items and their locations. For a brief second, I thought about opening the drawer where Will had hid his drawing. What was I thinking? He would have killed me if he caught me red-handed.

My attention was drawn to a nice watercolour hanging on the wall. How could I had not noticed it before? I’d been in that shop a few times and never really paid attention. Will was probably the reason.

Again, my eyes wandered and found him returning with a chair. He placed it on one side of the counter, exactly to his right. I would not be an obstacle for the possible customers and I would be fairly close to him.

“Alright.” He sat in his chair and I in mine. There was hesitation in him that I knew from my own experience. It reminded me of my first date ever and I had to smile.

He opened the bag I had brought and took out the contents. I reached for the coffee but before I could take a sip, he spoke.

“I believe there is still something I haven’t quite resolved for you.” Voice full of teasing.

“Oh yeah?” I raised my eyebrows and brought the cup of coffee close to my lips.

“You wanted to know my name.”

I was tempted to pretend I didn’t know it. I was tempted to propose a game and win against the odds. I wanted to leave it all a mystery because that would have been more fun. Yet, at that point, for me it was more than fun and games. Will allowed me to spend some time with him, maybe allowed himself to have company, even if for a short time. I wasn’t going to ruin that by lying the first chance I got.

“Your mother told me.”

He hung his head down and sipped his coffee. It was as if with that one mystery solved, the magic was gone. I felt sorry that he had lost the upper hand, or at least that was the way he perceived it. For me, it was only the beginning.

“I believe the tables have turned.”

He looked up instantly, processing what I had in mind. He had never asked for my name.

“Some would say wisdom is gained with age. But you seem naïve.”

My face must have expressed immense surprise as I had no idea what he meant and I saw the reflection of my own shock in his eyes and lips spreading wider.

“We don’t have that many guests and it was more than easy to find out who you were.” He explained, making me blush faintly because it couldn’t have been more obvious. With the access to the registry, Will could know me before I even laid eyes on him.

“Right. With that issue being clear, can I now call you Will?”

He nodded and raised his eyebrows, as if asking me the same, so I nodded as well. It was our silent mutual understanding, a sort of thing that I felt comfortable with only good friends and…

“So what are you doing here, Hannibal?”

The question brought me back to reality. Will was sipping coffee and tasting the pastry I had brought. It felt like two old friends met after years of separation.

“I’m trying to find peace. Or maybe… I’m looking for a thrill. Or both. Actually, I felt the need to get away and it was suggested to me that I should come here.”

“By whom? I bet the lady in the travel agency you went to was new or hired by her mother to help when there was no rush hour.”

His tone was amused but I sensed the note of despise and grudge it held.

“I realise that for the tourists this place is amazing and for the people that live here it might get boring.”

“You don’t say.” He swallowed a mouthful of pastry. “No, actually… I mean, this place is amazing. It has a soul, you know? Legends, stories, rumours. The views are marvellous. But at the same time, for me it feels like it’s all garbage.”

“Would you leave if you had the chance?”

It took him a moment before he answered. I saw him think carefully about my question and about all the possibilities the scenario could entail. I saw his endless care and love for his mother. I saw sorrow, pain and regret in his eyes.

“No. And I’m not particularly fond of what ifs.”

That was a sign that he wasn’t comfortable with the thought of actually leaving but with his apparent resentment for his home town, it must have been truly difficult to deal with everyday reality. I wondered whether that contradiction was the source of his sorrow.

“Why did you feel the need to get away?” He asked, feigning indifference but I knew it was painful for him, given something that I was not yet aware of, an element in the jigsaw that I had yet to discover.

“A loss.”

I noticed that uttering the truth was not as difficult as it used to be. I didn’t quite reconcile myself to the fact that I had lost the most important person in my life, but it was something, probably the first step to starting a new life.

“I cannot imagine how it must feel like.”

“There’s no need for you to imagine it so don’t even try.” I didn’t wish for anyone to experience such pain, although I knew there were people who went through the same or even worse.

“Can I ask who you lost?”

“My husband.”

I’d forgotten how much impact that word had on me. Suddenly, I remembered how happy I had been knowing I would be able to call Donald my spouse and how incredible it sounded. Neither of us was an immature teenager, yet, the fact that we were getting married had us laugh, do a few stupid things and even break some expensive items in my old house. Two professionals in their field – we were respected and everyone envied us. I continued throwing dinners and with my husband by my side, life had a new taste. We would talk for hours and often make love hastily, aware that we had to wake up early the next morning.

Memories, happy as well as painful, came quick and I had no means to defend myself against the flood.

Will must have noticed that I was lost and he didn’t want to interrupt that moment of weakness so he remained silent. It was only when I blinked, that he plucked up the courage to speak.

“I’m really sorry.”

“Thank you.”

I had to laugh gently because in no possible scenario had I anticipated our first serious conversation to be about my late husband. Will smiled and at that moment I knew he could understand the motive behind my behaviour. Perhaps, I hoped, he was able to understand me altogether.

“Why did you think leaving was a good decision? Is that your way of dealing with grief?”

His brutal honesty was refreshing. I was rather relieved that he wasn’t patronising and that he simply asked the questions he had in mind.

“I think I mourned him enough. I mean,” I realised what I said was strangely vain, “I’m afraid there is no way to turn back time and I’m more pragmatic than anything. I’ve spent ample time overwhelmed by guilt and sorrow and I thought that I should either die or start my life anew.” I paused there, thinking about the gun I’d bought, the one that was currently in my hotel room, waiting for the decision.

“I see.” He sipped the coffee and I saw how he reflected upon my words. “I wouldn’t want anyone to mourn me for too long. I’d feel guilty about it even in my grave.”

That wasn’t something I expected a young man like him to say. I had to blink and look at him twice to remind myself that I was speaking to the man who could be my son. Still, the tiredness in his eyes and the fire that was long gone was the sign that Will was no longer an immature and inexperienced teenager. He was a young adult who seemed disappointed with life.

“Do you really work every day here, then, at the café and then, help your mother? Is there no open widow that you devote to some other activities?”

My question hurt him as much as his hurt me. I knew I had hit the nerve. However, he remained calm and focused.

“Not really. But I don’t need time for anything else right now.”

I wanted to pursue that line of questioning, wanted to know what he meant. How could a quite attractive young man have nothing better to do than sit for hours in an empty shop?

“I asked because I was wondering if we could move our conversation someplace else. I know this town holds no secrets before you but maybe you could unfold some before me?”

“Towns do not have secrets. People do.”

An accurate statement. It made me want to get to know him even more. What secrets did he have?

I nodded and waited for the true answer to my proposition. The processes taking place in his head were as clear to me as the water in the sea. What was more, they reflected my own thoughts and worries. But then, at some point, he seemed to have found his answer. It was a revelation that reeked of a ‘carpe diem’ idea and it scared me. I missed that enthusiasm myself and I knew it was unusual for him as well.

“I finish my shift in the café at two. If you’re not asleep by then, maybe we could go somewhere.”

“I’ll come for you.”

He smiled at me, the kind of smile indicating he had nothing to lose. Did he really?


	5. Day 5

I left the hotel earlier than necessary because I wanted to enjoy the evening from the very beginning to the end. My quiet walk was interrupted by cheerful people, some of which were tipsy, and a handful of teenagers running around and trying to impress each other.

I was young once, too. I had the same urges and similar dreams. There were no responsibilities, no fear, no hesitation. Or maybe… Perhaps, that was only the image that I wished my youth to remain – a little careless and reckless. But the truth was, I was never that spoilt kid who’d had his eyes on skirts all the time. My dreams, hopes, and aspirations betrayed my true self quite early. My talents and interests revealed my nature to those around me and finally, to myself. I was born to be that guy.

“Hi.”

I was awoken from my daydreaming by the voice of youth disguised by a figure of a very tired man. Or maybe… Perhaps, it was the voice of reason disguised as a young handsome man.

“Are you free already?” I asked, seeing no signs of Will still being at work.

“Yeah. I asked to leave earlier tonight.”

“Why? I would have waited.”

“I couldn’t. I mean…” We both felt pretty awkward but it was him who had to explain himself. I almost felt pity for him. “It’s not what you think. I just figured that the earlier we go, the sooner I can go to bed and maybe have an hour of sleep.”

“We don’t have to-”

“No, no. It’s fine.”

He pointed to a street with his finger and we started walking.

“It’s not my best day. I feel like everything I say just comes out wrong.”

“You don’t have to worry about that. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable around me.”

He smiled briefly, all the while looking ahead and avoiding my eyes at any cost. I could, then, see how we must have appeared to any passer-by. Either a father and a son or a very young paid escort who didn’t mind selling himself to an old grump like myself. Actually, the father-son scenario was less likely possible since it was middle of the night and we were in no hurry, just wandering around. Will’s feet were slowly dragging over the pavement and I was anxious to register his every movement.

“We should go by the sea but not to the pier. There will be people there.”

“Of course.”

He gasped, suddenly aware of what might have been implied in his words, but I smiled and walked on. There was no need for apologies or explanation. And I actually cherished the idea of a quiet night in the presence of only the young man who offered me all he had, which was his precious time.

Will kept pointing the streets, indicating the next steps of out route to the sea, all the while remembering some unimportant details of the names of the streets as well as buildings and monuments we passed. His stories were more interesting than the best I’d heard given by professional tour guides. I listened to the anecdotes and memories from his childhood. Some concerned other kids, some he could not remember in full form so he stopped, thought hard and finally gave up. He was the most beautiful creature when he did that.

The sea was calm and the waves low, reaching the shore from time to time and disrupting the peaceful image. We sat directly on the sand, not very close to each other, and stared at the horizon. The music from the pier and the centre of the town barely reached our ears. We were listening to the sounds of nature. In addition to that, I heard my heart. I’d known it was there, beating and keeping me alive, but at that moment I truly realised it had not stopped. Not when Donald died, never before or after that. It was just an illusion. Will shattered that illusion.

“What are you smiling at?” he asked me with a suspicious expression.

“I’m glad I decided to come here.”

Will hung his head. It was not due to embarrassment or shyness. I saw him close his eyes and listen to the waves. I assumed he was trying to find that peace which I’d found. He wanted to feel the same thing I felt, leaving everything behind. After a moment, he looked at me.

His expression was full of sorrow and bitterness. Yet, he managed to smile reassuringly. His eyes were on my lips for a longer while and I fell silent. I wouldn’t dare to presume anything.

Time was passing, the sea undisturbed and us on the sand, with Will’s eyes focused on me. There was nothing I wished he’d do, nor did I plan to advance on him. We were simply enjoying our time together as… Well, we were not friends, not exactly. We barely knew each other, although I felt like I’d known him for years. The stories he’d shared with me felt real and I almost considered myself Will’s friend. I wanted him to confide in me.

Perhaps I was being delusional because there was quite an age gap between us and Will had been partly right – I would not stay in the town forever. I should not have got attached. And I should not have-

“You know, maybe I’m glad you came, too.”

“What?”

“I usually don’t talk to customers. I don’t talk to people at all. I don’t have any friends. And you… Your annoying persistence…”

I had to smile because he was smiling, too. He was looking at me with a wide warm smile which broke my heart. There was the man, sitting on a sand in the middle of the night, who made me rethink many concepts and opinions I held about the world, especially the ones connected with time and the fragile nature of our existence.

“I saw you have a motorbike.” Will changed the subject. His eyes were glistening so I guessed what he was after. “Do you think you could give me a ride?”

“Of course. Tomorrow?”

“More like today. It’s after midnight already.”

“I could pick you up when you get off work,” I suggested.

Will nodded and leant closer. He put his head on my shoulder and continued staring at the waves. I couldn’t figure out what was happening at that moment. My heart was pounding, my hands started shaking, my head was spinning. And Will appeared to me like a lonely island, a calm oasis. His breathing was steady, slow, quiet, yet I felt his chest rise and fall.

“Time is not on our side.” He murmured quietly so I could barely hear. It felt as if he was speaking more to himself than to me. I did not know whether he meant _us_ as the whole humanity or just me and him.

We got back to the hotel and wished each other good night.

 

I couldn’t sleep that night. I was constantly thinking of the man who was in the room next to mine. I wondered what had happened that he decided to give me a chance. I wondered whether he truly felt comfortable around me even though he barely knew me. It was strange but I wanted to be his friend. I wanted to stay there longer, offer him myself and for him to offer himself to me. I wanted to help him and wished to secure his future. I began constructing plans and scenarios where I take him back to my city, rent him a flat of his own, help him get higher education, watch him become a man he wanted to be. Then, I wondered if maybe my fantasies didn’t correspond with his at all. Did he want to escape his life there? Would he accept the life I could offer him? My eyes closed and I dreamt of him getting married to a beautiful girl.

I woke up with tears in my eyes. It was not the first time I felt like that so I recognised the emotion immediately – jealousy. Although I had no reason or any right to be jealous, I could not help but feel a pang of it. I remembered how Donald had laughed at me when I admitted to him that I was jealous for the first time and how, despite that, I continued to be jealous at times. I didn’t believe that my husband would ever cheat on me and I was aware of the irrationality of my behaviour.

With Will, it was not connected with any romantic overtures I was going to pursue but rather with the fact that I had already created an image of myself being his saviour. Anyone else in the picture became my enemy, however foolish that sounded. Anyone able to give Will what I couldn’t was a threat.

I shook my head violently to get rid of my awfully egoistic and silly thoughts.

 

At four in the afternoon, I was waiting leant against my bike right across the street where the shop was. Will appeared five minutes later, looked around, and smiled when he spotted me holding two helmets. I’d had only one so I had a little trip around the town in order to find a second one for my friend.

He took it from my hands, put it on his head and nodded, indicating he was ready.

“Where to?” I asked and got on the bike. Will took the seat right behind me and said he would be giving me directions on the way.

 

We were standing on top of a small hill surrounded by the winding road. There was a single tree there and we stopped right beneath it. It was a perfect spot, allowing a view of the town, the sea and the horizon, which was so incredibly different than to what I was used to. The fresh perspective made me want to stay even longer. Somehow, I was relieved that no one had yet contacted me to tell me to come back.

“I haven’t been able to take a break and relax lately. It’s nice.”

Will’s words had me soften and smile. I could feel we were both peaceful and our guards were down. We sat on the grass next to the tree and stared, just like the night before. Words weren’t particularly necessary and I truly wanted for Will to simply have a rest. Seeing him not occupied at work or with his mind busy was invigorating. Still, I realised he was never fully at ease.

When I felt his hand on my thigh, I suddenly got very still. My muscles tensed a bit and he must have sensed it but he didn’t take away his hand.

“I only needed to make sure it’s real.” The man explained.

“It is. It is very real.”

I felt goose bumps on my arms and thighs. It had been quite a while since I was sitting so close to someone. And it seemed like ages since I last wanted a man to touch me so badly. Still, it wasn’t necessarily erotic, but friendly and supporting. There we were – two men sitting by a tree, alone, trying to make sense of all the things around us. We nearly succeeded.

I watched Will look at the horizon and I was conscious of the workings of his mind. It was obvious that he was burdened with something and possibly looking for someone to share that weight with. I hoped he would find me a suitable partner. The waiting continued.

 _Time is not on our side_. I remembered and kept repeating the line in my head. I wondered whether Will jumped right into this particular sort of relationship with me because he was aware that I would leave soon. Perhaps it felt safe for him to give in when he was not expected to commit fully.

I understood I got lost in thought when I finally noticed his eyes on me, and lips curved in a sympathetic smile. Then, the smile faded and Will’s lips parted gently. Only then did I realise that his hand was still on my thigh and it was almost burning a hole in the fabric of my trousers.

As he was leaning in, I tried to think of a reason why that was a bad idea. Panic grew inside me as I was hoping to convince myself I should stop Will before he would regret it. Yet, the hot touch of his hand and his sweet breath now reaching my nostrils made me lose my head for the next few minutes. Perhaps I never truly recovered from the soft press of his lips against mine. That lasted two seconds. Then, he pulled back slightly and kissed the corner of my mouth. Another second. Then, my cheek, very briefly.

“Thank you.” He whispered.

For what? I could not think, I could not speak. My mind was blank. My eyes closed. When I opened them, he was still sitting next to me and staring at the world in front of us. I was questioning my sanity. Did I mistake fantasy for reality? Did he actually kiss me? And thanked me! For what?

Suddenly, I felt like the world around me became more intense. I heard the birds sing. The wind on my face was colder. The ruffle of leaves on the tree louder. Will’s scent sweeter.

“I had never kissed anyone. I’m sorry if… I was just curious.”

The words reached my ears and I understood them but could not respond. My mind was having a hard time processing the fact that the man currently sitting beside me had never been kissed. And that of all people available he chose me to satisfy his curiosity. I had never before met such an intriguing person.

“Did I offend you? Was it bad?”

I blinked. I realised I hadn’t spoken for some time. I might have been reliving the moment for too long. I raised my hand and put it on his thigh. It appeared to me he might have had a fever. His body was incredibly hot and his actions were barely rational. I considered taking him to a doctor.

He looked at my hand on his leg and smiled at me faintly.

“You’re right to be thinking I’m desperate.” Will’s voice was firm and not any different from the way he usually spoke.

“You have youth as an excuse. I’m not in such a convenient situation.”

“Do you blame yourself for my mistake?” Will asked bitterly. It was obvious he didn’t want me to feel bad for something he considered his fault. The problem was that I didn’t blame him for anything. He had kissed me. That was all. The problem was on my side – I wanted him to kiss me again.

“You wanted to kiss me, correct?” Will nodded. “And I didn’t resist. In fact, I enjoyed it. So you don’t have to worry about it.”

He looked away. His eyes stopped on the bike. I wished I had known what he was thinking then. I feared he would not want to keep in touch after that afternoon. I was scared that having satisfied his curiosity, Will would find me unnecessary and no longer worth keeping in his life.

“How fast can it go?”

I looked at the bike and tried to remember the time I’d gone the fastest. It must have been quite a long ago. I usually drove by car everywhere, the bike had more of a sentimental value to me. I used to take Donald for romantic outings sometimes and my bike would frequently turn out to come in handy. My late husband both loved and hated me for keeping that piece of metal.

“Probably not fast enough,” I answered, because whatever the reason behind his question, my bike would not comply.

Soon, we left the place. Not without hesitation, because I believed both of us experienced something thrilling, something that made us want to stay forever on top of that hill, far away from the real world. We had a glimpse of how it felt to detach ourselves from our lives and it was almost addictive.

 

I took him to a nice restaurant for dinner and promised to behave. He smiled at my remark, which I found relieving. It didn’t become awkward between us and I cherished his small gestures as we were sitting at the table. At some point, I realised there was an elderly couple glancing at us and I wondered whether we seemed like a pair of criminals. Was it really so odd that a middle-aged man had dinner with a young handsome fellow? I decided not to be bothered by that incident and I averted my eyes so that Will wouldn’t notice we were being observed.

We returned to the hotel before ten in the evening and went to our separate rooms, his next to mine.

Half an hour later, I heard quiet knocking at my door. For a moment I thought that perhaps I made it all up or that the noise I heard was not knocking. Yet, I approached the door and planned to open it slightly just to make sure no one was there. However, when I opened the door, it became obvious that I would have difficulties falling asleep that night.

“May I come in?” Will asked, quietly. He was wearing a white t-shirt and a pair of tracksuit pants. His hands were in his pockets and he was shifting the weight of his body from one leg to the other.

I opened the door wider, allowing him to enter, and then closed it.

“I imagined I would be asleep by now, given how busy and tired I am usually, but… I couldn’t sleep.”

I nodded, a silent indication that I understood completely. More than that, I could not fall asleep myself. I wasn’t tired after a whole day of doing virtually nothing. And then there was the issue of the kiss that, despite my great effort, I could not disregard.

Will leant against the wall, hands still in his pockets, and looked around.

“So, what are you up to?”

I saw what he saw – the sheet of paper, the pencil, the pen, all lying on the table, carelessly. My imperfect drawings, my notebook, a bottle of water. I was not unpacked, there were no clothes anywhere in the room, no personal belongings besides the ones on the table.

“I don’t know. I guess I was just… thinking.”

“Won’t do you much good.” He commented and took a step forward.

There were not many options as to where he could sit. There was either the bed or the floor, really. I didn’t believe he would choose the bed and I was right. He continued standing two meters away from me. I was aware I had to make a move and I didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. I sat on the bed and crossed my legs.

“I was trying to focus on the future, instead of the past.”

Will sat beside me and I felt the bed dip with his weight.

“Do you have a cigarette?” He asked.

“I don’t smoke.”

“I don’t, either. Never have. Thought I’d give it a try.”

“Curiosity strikes again?”

“It never ceases, does it? There are so many things you will never do, no matter how long you live. The enormity of choices is overwhelming.”

I turned my head to look at him. He was not high or drunk, although we'd had a drink at dinner. I assumed he was simply honest.

“And among the many tastes ready to be discovered, you wish to try a cigarette?”

His smile was disarming. I could never stay mad at him. I could not, at that point, imagine going back to my home and abandoning Will. There was no way I could ever forget him or let him forget me. Although still fairly unknown to me, Will was gradually becoming exactly the person I needed. His openness and willingness helped me recover from my suicidal thoughts. There was so much comfort in knowing I could talk to someone and not care about the etiquette.

“Perhaps that was only an excuse. I have plenty of those up my sleeve.”

We were sitting there, in complete silence for the next few minutes. The only light was coming from a small lamp on the table. Still, I was aware he was staring at me, as much as I was gaping at him.

“Tell me, Will, why is it that up until today you had not been kissed?”

Instantly, he looked away and crossed his legs as well. I became horrified that he would leave and never speak to me again.

“Too many reasons to enumerate. I could think of a better way to use up the time.”

The innuendo seemed clear but I was not certain he meant it. Not until he placed a hand on my thigh. His touch was burning, not unlike his gaze upon my lips.

“I liked how it felt, up on that hill. I’d like to try that again.”

I covered his hand on my leg with my own palm. My thumb stroked his smooth skin as his face was coming closer to mine. What was I thinking? My head became empty, I was wholly an intense emotion. I should have been ashamed of myself – an older man who gave in to the charms of youth. Was I taking advantage of Will? It didn’t feel like it but there was a seed of guilt growing inside of me.

“Are you certain about that?” The question just left my mouth without my permission. It was the right thing to do, I supposed.

“Yes. Do you not want it? I’m sorry, I don’t want to impose…”

He was gradually withdrawing but I held him and didn’t let go any further.

“I want it. I only had to make sure I hadn’t maneuvered you into an uncomfortable position.”

“I think it was me who came here to seduce you, not the other way around.”

My lips parted in shock. Will was young, although his looks barely betrayed him, but he was an adult – an independent, self-aware adult who was perfectly capable of making people lose their heads. At least, that was what he’d done to me.

He kissed me, finally. Gently, his lips were merely pressing against mine, but I could feel his presence close to me. Our breaths mingled and I imagined we were becoming one, although we remained two very much separate entities.

Will’s lips kept touching mine; then, my cheeks, my chin, my jawline. I shaved almost every day so I imagined Will was grateful for not having to experience the stinging sensation after our little endeavour. He continued kissing me with slightly more passion and when he returned to my mouth, he added his tongue. My lips were still parted and prepared to take all of him. Our hands on my leg intertwined and I could not remember how it had felt to kiss anyone else.

We stayed like that for some time and then, fell asleep on my single bed, pressed against each other.


End file.
